


The Naughty Night at the Museum

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comeplay, Dean and Castiel Save the Day, Dean has an Accents Kink, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Half Plot, Humor, Humorous Ending, M/M, Museums, Porn With Plot, Security Guard Castiel, Security Guard Dean, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Wall Sex, accent kink, break-in, half porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 09:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12981204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Dean knows how wrong this is. Knows how he could get them both fired if anyone walked in on this—but that’s the thrill of it. He and Cas have been pulling this off for a couple months, and yet, a jolt of carnal electricity shocks Dean to his core every time Cas so much as takes off his shirt.Either way, it’s genius: Getting hired as night security for a museum so they don’t have to sneak in to do all the things they’re doing. And they’re getting paid for it.





	The Naughty Night at the Museum

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what sex demon possessed me when I wrote this intro. It started off innocent enough, and then........ well, anyway. Yeah.
> 
> But hey, it's been a while since I've written anything explicit so that's nice.

“Cas,” Dean practically pants against his mouth like a greyhound after a race, “please. I need it. I need you. I—”

Cas presses a finger to Dean’s lips, eliciting, given the circumstances, what’s definitely an _unsolicited_ moan when Cas’s knee pushes his balls higher in his tented jeans. He’s pretty sure he’s backed against a painting that could pay his college tuition, but he can’t seem to care when every coherent and incoherent thought is rushing to his dick. That, and Cas’s warm breath dancing under his nose is like paint fumes. He knows he’s high when he can smell his own desperation trickling down his throat as Cas laps it up with his tongue.  “You’re beautiful,” he says, causing Dean to shiver. “Wanna pin you up like one of Vargas’s girls.”

“What’s the name of that French still life painter?” Dean asks between short breaths.

Cas’s face splits into a wicked grin. “You mean Jean-Siméon Chardin?”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Dean hisses softly.

“Or Henri Fantin-Latour?”

“ ** _Fuck.”_**

Cas’s laugh vibrates against Dean’s collarbone, causing his stubble to brush against his shoulder. “Remember the first time you heard that name?” he asks, pressing an all-too gentle kiss between the tarn in Dean’s neck, “On my first day? I know you do. We were standing in front of _Roses in a Bowl_ before I undraped you; spread you like a fucking Durieu model.” He pauses, forcing Dean to open his eyes and close them just as fast when he feels Cas’s teeth like a comb, dragging across his nipple, then he laughs again, “Ironic, considering you’d never been fucked by a guy before—I deflowered your pretty little pistil.”

“C-Cas,” Dean stammers, “I’m…”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll let you let go,” he reassures with a kiss to the same nipple before slowly sinking to his knees to undo Dean’s zipper, “I’m your canvas. Paint me a masterpiece.”

Dean knows how wrong this is. Knows how he could get them both fired if anyone walked in on this—but that’s the thrill of it. He and Cas have been pulling this off for a couple months, and yet, a jolt of carnal electricity shocks Dean to his core every time Cas so much as takes off his shirt.

It started with a kiss. Cas took his time painting over Dean’s strictly pastel mouth. Then they began stealing quicker, less heated kisses. Then, when one of them—typically Dean—would linger too long, they started getting away with blowjobs, handjobs, and then more experimental things (as if Dean didn’t have enough to add to his sexual resume with exhibitionism).

Either way, it’s genius: Getting hired as night security for a museum so they don’t have to sneak in to do all the things they’re doing. _And_ they’re getting paid for it.

Without a second’s hesitation, Dean pulls out his dick and doesn’t even have to thumb his throbbing head before it’s raining on Cas’s forehead. Dean moves himself to cover more of Cas’s face and pre-messy dark brown hair. He forces his eyes open through the rest of the orgasm, not wanting to miss the way his white paint slides down Cas’s hemp. When he finishes, he drags Cas back up by the lapel of his newly stained collar to sign his work, tasting himself as he does so.

Cas smiles wide when Dean pulls back. “Bathroom?”

Dean exhales deeply, the last of his ecstasy slipping from him as he allows Cas to guide him there.

Not long after washing up and slipping into clean shirts (after Dean takes care of Cas, that is), they hear it. “Probably a couple of high school students sneaking in to make out,” Dean scoffs.

“Amateurs,” Cas laughs as they step into the foyer again.

Only, when they do, they don’t find Romeo and Juliet parting with sweet sorrow—but a woman, standing in front of a painting Dean knows, _ahem_ , fairly well. (He’s not much of a renaissance man, but museums are for admiring the art, right? He just happens to admire this one… a lot.) It’s the same one he was under not too long ago, in fact. “You know,” Dean starts rather obnoxiously, “If you wanted to beat off to a French girl, you could’ve taken a picture during visiting hours.”

The woman turns around, long brown hair sweeping across the back of her leather jacket like curtains picking up the wind from an open window. Her smile is wicked, baring her front teeth and pushing the poisonous red apples in her cheeks. “ _Nu couché_.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Pardon?”

“It’s the name of the painting,” Cas clarifies. “It was a series Amedeo Modigliani did near the end of the Expressionism movement. It translates to _Reclining Nude_ in English.” He braves a step closer with a look that could shake an artist’s stubborn muse from its slumber. “It’s also worth close to 200 million dollars.”

Dean has to keep his eyes from bulging out of his sockets. “ _200 mill_ —so you’re a thief?”

The woman’s smile is unwavering as she turns to Cas. “I see your boyfriend ate his Wheaties this morning. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“We can’t let you do that,” Cas states.

“Is that accent even real?” Dean blurts.

“You really think I’m faking a British accent?” the woman scoffs. “I’m a grifter, not a stage performer.”

“A grifter?” Cas asks.

“A con artist that goes under an alias and plays some poor bastard outta their money.” Cas looks to Dean, impressed but also slightly concerned. “What? I have a lot of thieves in my family.”

Cas shakes his head with wide, baffled blue eyes. “We have _got_ to go on an actual date.”

“So, what alias are you under today?” Dean asks, suddenly more confident on the prospect of a date with Cas.

“First of all, none of them are _poor,_ ” the grifter snaps, “I’m doing them a favor taking some of their money off their hands. And if you must know: My alias is Bela. Bela Talbot.”

“Well, Bela,” Dean says, signaling with the flick of his head as he steps next to Cas, “nice to know you by an official name when we turn you over to the police.”

Bela throws her head back, but holds her hands up nonetheless. Dean and Cas approach her carefully, hands steady on their guns. Halfway in their stride, she jumps underneath Dean, kneeing him in the balls before swiping his gun. Cas shoots, but it grazes the left sleeve of her jacket when she kicks it out of his hands with her matching leg. She hits him square in the face with the nose of Dean’s gun. “One more step and I’ll shoot.”

Dean, removing his hands from his newly sore crotch and Cas from his bleeding nose, raise their arms in a breathy surrender. After a few seconds of heated glares, Bela turns back to the painting.

Before she can start lifting it from the wall, however, she takes a nasty fall on her tailbone. Dean and Cas scramble to seize their guns back and waste no time hauling her up and out of the building.

When the police finish their interrogation, Dean and Cas step back into the lobby where the painting is. Once they find what they’re looking for, they both turn to each other with a face-splitting grin.

Who knew Dean’s cum would be the thing that _saves_ his job?

 

 

 


End file.
